Chapter 1.- The protected natural crime area
The house where Andrew Pine was arguing with his brother-in-law couldn't be more austere for a man like him. But that didn't stop the tone of the words from rising up like the mercury in a thermometer in the middle of a volcano.
—Stay away from her, Maxwell. Settle the divorce, tell your lawyer that your wife is in the hospital with health problems, say any shit that's needed. But just walk away.
—No way I'm gonna do that, Andrew. It's precisely now when she needs me the most.
—Do you think no one in this town knows you married my sister because I won that fuckin' lottery prize? Yes, the damn money, vile money. That’s why I live like this, without a manor, without servants, without anything because I want it that way. Just a house on the outskirts, without a garden or pool, so what. But you, look at you, married to an alcoholic woman, waiting on your wealthy brother-in-law to provide you a luxurious life.
— Elise is the one who reproaches you the most for your living style. I never bring it up.
— Of course, not... You have to convince her that you're a nice guy who genuinely cares for her... I'm about to show you something, you bastard.
Andrew Pine approached one of the compartments on the shelf of the living room. He took a brochure from there, along with a certificate of paid expenses and a check.
— This is a paid week at Pleasant Lake, one of this state's premier summer resorts. It's not too far from here, just a hundred miles away. What you're gonna do with this bunch is to find another ingénue who falls for your words. Consider this a down payment for your departure, you're free to impress any victim in that location by letting her believe you're Mr. Right. After the divorce, I'll give you another five-figure sum to disappear, but that'll be it. From there, I don't want you to get any closer to my sister. Now get a hell out of my sight.
Maxwell Irons, check clutched in hand, exited the outlying house with a scoff. The absurdity of it all gnawed at him. Here was that man Andrew, blessed by a stroke of fortune, living a life as undistinguished as any office worker's. But Andrew's disdain for money was real. Money, he believed, was a siren song that lured snakes from the shadows. Maxwell, in Andrew’s steely gaze, was but one such serpent. Andrew had been tempted to donate everything to charity, but he didn't trust organizations much either. At some time he looked for worthy causes: unsheltered families, people with terminal illnesses. the truly helpless. But the truth, a stark and irrefutable one, remained: Andrew, despite his wealth, did no good to anybody.
Maxwell settled into the driver's seat, drove back to the little house he shared with his wife, poured himself a glass of dubonnet and one hour later headed to the rehab center where Elise was admitted. He met her for the first time in the seventies, when the world looked wider and brighter. Maxwell and Elise were very young then; in that decade they shared a love that, although lacking of depth, it was love and that was enough for both.
That lasted an entire summer, ending when people could no longer dedicate time to suntans and sea waves. They drifted in very separate ways. After Andrew's lucky strike, some dark thoughts instantly born in him. He returned to visit her after a long absence: Elise had changed too much, she drank, she had violent outbursts. Despite everything, he feigned a new interest in her until he got the attention he needed.
— I'll be out of here in no time, Maxwell. — she said, the consequences of drunkenness visible on her face — Everything will improve, absolutely everything will improve.
She was worried about her brother. The woman shared the same concerns as the rest of Larson City: a man who lives alone and is known to have tons of money in the bank could be the victim of a robbery, kidnapping, or any heinous crime.
— Don't worry — he told her. — As you say, things can only get better.
The Geneva bar, the closest to Maxwell Irons' house, was situated in an old, run-down structure with a wooden roof and a worn-out floor. Irons started talking to the bartender, and things were going as usual until the man behind the counter asked about Maxwell's wife health.
—I'm very concerned for my wife. I'm also developing anxiety issues myself. I've made the decision to take a break.
—What the heck d'you mean, Maxwell?
—I'll be leaving town for some days to unwind. I'm not sure what day it'll be, but I'll show you where. I think this is a good resort.
He displayed the Pleasant Lake brochure to him. The print's exaggerated colors made the bartender's bored eyes work.
—It appears to be a pleasant location. How long will you be staying?
— Four or five days, I think. But my car just broke down, so I'll take it to the shop when I get back. The train is good option.
— I wish you well, Maxwell.
Maxwell Irons left town on a bus a few days later. He started out heading north, to a place called Greenwood, which, despite its gloomy surroundings, offered its streets to anyone willing to spend time in them. He had already seen a lot of the state while working as a traveling salesman, so he was not unfamiliar with the urban setting. He happened to run into some nice people as well as underground individuals. Maxwell pondered his best options for handling his delicate situation while strolling through the streets of Greenwood. Resources not available in a relatively small community like Larson City could be obtained in a city of such size. A little look closer among the crowd would be enough to reach the needed answers.
After spending two days in Greenwood, Maxwell finally made his way to Pleasant Lake thanks to a cabbie who agreed to travel for eighteen miles, persuaded by the promise of a hefty fare. When he got there, he looked around and saw that everyone was checking in with their families except for him. Every family group formed small, close-knit circles around themselves, taking care of their own children only. The air was decorated with laughter, the joyous shrieks of children; the soft murmur of shared secrets underscored the man's own solitude. The security guards and the manager found it odd that a solitary person booked for some time of leisure there.
That same afternoon, at around 7 p.m., Irons was in the lobby of the main hotel of the resort when a busboy approached him.
—You have a call from Larson City, Mr. Irons.
Maxwell picked up the phone and spoke briefly.
—So everything is in order? How are the things going? Really? Fantastic, I'll be there soon. Thank you, thank you very much.
On Wednesday, almost at dawn, he was spotted in sports clothes returning from jogging, carrying a sports bag. He passed by the reception desk and went up to his room to take a shower. At noon, he had lunch at Big Hot Ribs, a restaurant within the resort grounds. He didn't speak to anyone, he just listened in on other guests' conversations instead.
- It takes the biscuit! I swear I'm gonna to sue this place. What a lack of safety!
— I can't believe they filled your car's upholstery with beer. That must be the job of a pack of misfits.
—Believe me, George, I'm going to get to the bottom of this. For the time being, I've already contacted my lawyers.
Irons grew tired of hearing other peoples' complaints; he finished lunch and headed to a check-in booth to sign up for a lake trip scheduled for the next morning. That was the last thing he did in public that day, he spent cloistered the whole afternoon. Irons ordered room service for dinner with the television on. Cheers, Knots Landing, well-cooked meat, those three elements were his only company that night.
On Thursday, after jogging, he began to prepare for the long-awaited trip around the lake, scheduled for 9 a.m. He put on the necessary outfit, heard the reception phone ring, went down the stairs making noise with the heavy shoes he was wearing. The receptionist, with a contrite expression, called him immediately.
— Mr. Irons, you have a call from Larson City. It's urgent.
— I'm sorry, but I can't miss this trip. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I stepped on a boat? I won't lie to you if I tell you since high school.
—Sir, I must insist, you should answer this…
—I'll do it when I get back! Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to the pier.
Maxwell Irons joined the group to kick off the activity, carried out on a small tour boat, a ferry boat imitation.
There were about twenty vacationers in the trip with a guide describing them the beauty of the area as well as some of the history of the surroundings. Upon returning, Irons was greeted by the hotel manager himself, along with the receptionist.
—Mr. Irons, I'm afraid we have to talk to you in private.
The sunlight, so radiant at the beginning of the day, seemed to darken slightly without any cloud to cause it. Even more opaque was the management office, where the manager communicated Irons his brother-in-law's murder. Apparently, an assailant, attracted by the victim's fortune, broke into the house through a window, committed the malicious act and mixed up everything he found. But because Andrew had chosen to live in scarce luxury, there was almost nothing really valuable to steal from the house. A complete waste.
— I don't have a vehicle to return to Larson City, where I live. It's ninety miles away from this resort.
— Don't worry, sir, we'll take care of it. Under the circumstances, one of our aids will drive you all the way.
The manager gave instructions to one of his employees, who stepped out to prepare everything. Once everything was settled, he man in charge expressed his deepest condolences to the guest.
On his way home, Maxwell didn’t want to visualize his wife's reaction upon learning the terrible news. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that her progress would crumble under the weight of her grief. And that's precisely what happened. After leaving the sanatorium to attend the funeral services, Elise locked herself in the apartment for three days straight. She screamed for alcohol, but Maxwell, reminding her of youthful times, convinced her that she would get relief if she agreed to claim her brother’s assets. Elise inherited all his late brother's money, which she placed in a community account. Maxwell, on behalf of his wife, purchased the only manor for sale in Larson City, a ten-room residence that abutted a swamp of thick, dangerous sand, of unusual color, surrounded by tall, ancient trees, all of them included in the property limits.
The investigations initially pointed to an assault. Local police chief Ray Thorne, however, was not convinced. He suspected Irons who, helped by his new resources, began constructing an innocence profile. A lady, his former neighbor, went to the police to swear she saw him leaving the city before the crime. And the Larson City people, tired of all that scandal, sided with him thinking it was a good thing that he and his wife enjoy the money that selfish Andrew Pine never wanted to share.
As weeks went by, Maxwell Irons became an influential person; as a candidate for a seat in the city council he reinforced his good image establishing a charity organization along with Elise, visibly recovered from alcohol, as could be seen in her face every time she left the mansion to escort her husband in his proselytizing events. Regarding the property and the swamp, the man ordered the entire perimeter to be fenced. Likewise, to ensure complete privacy, he called an environmental group to verify the qualities of the natural elements in and surrounding said swamp. With the appropriate recommendations, Irons wielded his influence to have the entire zone declared a protected natural area. Accessible only to him and his wife, it became immune to expropriation or any project the authorities might conceive.
Near Christmas time, Elise overheard her husband speaking on the phone with his campaign manager.
— It’s like I told you, man, we can’t move if the mayor continues to let chief Thorne investigating. I understand he cannot be pressured any more, I need all the available support from those people in the administration, but there are only six days left until the election. I want you to do this: collect whatever dirty you can find in the chief, get people’s attention to that. Make up anything that's necessary. We’ll be in touch. Bye.
As soon as he hung up the phone, Elise approached.
—Find what from chief Thorne?
— Dear! I didn't notice you around. Listen, it’s painful to say this but I don’t think the police are really eager to find real culprits. They don't even have the wits. They're only looking for ghosts, to tell the truth, Thorne is trying to make himself a career, apparently this town is too tiny for him. He's got nothing, that’s why they insist on focusing on me. But don’t worry, we’ll get through this together.
— "We"?
— Yes, both. Why are you asking me that?
— It's hard to stand together when I feel I'm in the dark. Plus, it's pointless to ask you anything. You never explained why you traveled to that summer resort alone or what you did there... that’s why I preferred not to ask any further questions. Do you think I'm unaware that Andrew was the one who could have funded you for such a trip? Someone who never pledged to pay anyone for anything, giving you money? Why?
—Andrew didn't even come up to you and tell you himself!
Maxwell stepped away from the phone and gently approached Elise.
— Darling, come over here — Maxwell hugged her from behind in an affectionate mood. — Yes, your brother wanted to get rid of me and I agreed to leave for awhile so everybody could breath a bit... But the police... all they want to do is to make people’s lives harder. You shouldn’t bring it up to others, you shouldn't even talk to the lady we had as a neighbor, I've already explained to you she was there for me when you... well, you were away. But all that's in the past. Please, take a second glance around you now. When you have a property like this the only thing you should do is to enjoy it. I wish we could take a long vacation, but the campaign is on, there’s very little left…
—It’s just been four months since Andrew's death and you’re already talking about the past? I’ll tell you what the past is. Those nights at the Torino, the walks on the beach at Sea Wolf Bay, Barry White’s love theme. Do you see any remainders of that here, today? Those good days, they are the past. Please let the police do their job.
—Are you going to let them interrogate you? You were in the sanatorium when everything happened. I don't want them to take advantage of your grief.
— I'll do whatever it takes until they find the person who did that to my brother.
Elise left the balcony. That night, Irons stared for a long time at the panoramic image of the marsh that stretched out in front of him. A mansion and that purple background couldn’t be the only two things that life had in store for him. There had to be more, much more.
The next day, after dinner, he talked to Elise about the natural reserve area, picking up where they had left off some days ago.
—I don’t know why you dislike that part of the property. It's beautiful by night. The purple waters give a special shine to the reflection of the moon. It looks like a cartoon, comparable to those colorful movies you watch in the projection hall.
—I can only imagine how terrifying that swamp is. I've told everyone I know that it scares me to death. Who wouldn't?
— You can't be terrified if you have someone at your side to look after you.
He persuaded her to go on a short tour. They entered via a tiny wooded area densely forested with tall, aromatic trees. The swamp was really vast and chilly, but the moon refused to cooperate, not wanting to escape from the shelter of a distant cloud.
—What a shame there's not enough light — he noticed. —But if you give it a few minutes, maybe that fugitive moon will dare to shine some light on us.
—It’s almost eleven o'clock. Shouldn’t we go back to the house?
—Just look up. The moon is almost about to rise.
In the sky, the star did not want to witness the moment when Maxwell Irons pushed his wife into the thick, impassive swamp.
—Maxwell! What are you doing? Get me out of here!
—As you said it yourself, dear... there is nothing here that reminds us of the true past.
- You did it! You killed him! Damn you! Killer! I curse you, do you hear? I curse you!
Maxwell Irons turned around, and throughout the entire stretch that led him back to the house he did turned again to look at least once at Elise’s face. The moon finally appeared, but only to reveal a wave of bubbling mud where the woman’s desperate voice could no longer be heard.
(END OF CHAPTER ONE)
Copyright © 2023 by Fernando Salinas.
